


The Plumber and the Phoneline

by DoreyG



Category: The BT Infinity Adverts
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Fantasy Sex, First Times, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, no really, phonesex, watching porn while talking to your flatmate is a totally normal thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Simon, you’re <i>right next door</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plumber and the Phoneline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the phonesex/epistolary square on my Kink_Bingo. Was not meant to become 3000 words about how two guys from an obscure British advert are totally having sex, but there you go... Also, BT should totally use this in their advertising. YOU CAN HAVE PHONESEX ON OUR PHONES AND PAY NOTHING FOR GETTING OFF! WE ARE BETTER THAN ALL OTHER PROVIDERS! YAY! And so on.

“Simon, you’re _right next door_.”

He sprawls back on his bed, a touch smugly. Taps a few highly intelligent buttons on his computer so a veritable forest of tabs springs up: there twitter, there tumblr, there the latest updates from the phone company (he likes to keep abreast of any new news!), There… _Well_. He’s practically grown up on the internet – and he’s _fully_ aware of rule 34.

“ _Simon_.”

“What is your point,” he maxes that tab, shuffles the phone in his ear to one side as he fiddles with resolutions and sound levels and _all_ those deeply important things, “my dearest Joseph?”

“My dearest-?” He _hears_ Joe catch himself, as he does a final few checks. Has to hold back a snigger at the long and _heartfelt_ sigh sent hurtling merrily down the line, “my point _is_ that if you wanted to talk to me you could always, oh, ask to meet me in the living room? Or _actually knock on my door and go into my room for once_?”

“Why would I want to do that, _Joseph_?” He doesn’t hold back a snigger this time, as he firmly clicks the _play_ button.

“Because my room isn’t some horrible cave despite your bike _still_ being in the corner and if you actually wanted to talk to me instead of just mocking you could actually make the effort and- and-“ Joe’s huff coincides with the sigh of the lady on the screen, in _quite_ an int- an odd way, a very odd way, “do you actually understand _people_ , Simon?”

He performs an awkward shrugging maneuver, the phone still held between his shoulder and ear, “I understand online people.”

“Face to face interaction _with_ people, I meant. The necessary skills to _actually_ get by in life instead of-“

“A good proportion of the internet would disagree with you there, Joe,” he informs the man, the _boy_ really – so naïve and untested in the ways of the world, as the woman sighs again. Like she has an endless supply of breath in her lungs, _honestly_ , “especially if you put it like _that_.”

“Like _what_?”

“Are you just going to whine at me all day,” he says, a touch brighter as the doorbell actually _rings_ and the woman pulls herself back from the edge of passing out, “or are you actually going to _talk_ to me like you’re supposed to, Joey boy?”

There’s a long, silent, _aggrieved_ pause.

Joe draws in an angry, but a wonderfully _resigned_ , breath the moment the door opens, and-

Okay, the ‘actor’ (he uses it in the loosest sense of the word) looks just like him. Odd, again. Interesting, ag- _strange_ , new! So new! Incredibly new! Nothing old _anywhere_ near it!

…Seriously, though: they look almost exactly alike. Same ruffled brown hair, same skinniness that somehow inspires the urge to make _soup_ , same faintly gormless expression, even that same way of _staring_ for a long few moments before words occur.

And it really is, it really _incredibly_ is, it really undeniably _is_ -

He realizes, vaguely, that Joe has been saying something down the phone. Has to pull his hand hurriedly away from his stomach before he can dare think up a witty and downright _cutting_ reply “…What?”

Joe, _humph_ , actually dares to _laugh_ at him – a half mocking, half genuinely amused thing that’d have him transforming into rabid super wolf mode if it was _any_ other person, “I _said_ : you’re the one that called me, don’t you remember?”

It takes him a few seconds, a few seconds watching the woman show Joe- the Joe _resembler_ to her boiler with far too many winks for a woman unable to get water out of her taps, to formulate an answer to that, “so?”

Joe, humph _again_ , still sounds amused when he answers – he can practically _hear_ that smirk down the phone, “shouldn’t _you_ be the one providing the ‘conversational drive’, then?”

“…Maybe.”

“Well?”

…No man should be able to open a cupboard door that sexily, he decides as he watches Joe- the Joe _clone_ , saunter gracefully into the now blinking woman’s cupboard. And, for that matter, _no_ man has any business looking sexy while fixing a boiler – it’s an inanimate object, a rather _ugly_ one as far as inanimate objects go. It should not be associated with sexy rubbing and bending and arse highlighting at-!

“You haven’t appeared in any films, have you?” He blurts out, narrowly managing to tear his eyes away from the quite frankly _obscene_ amount of arse highlighting on display, “short movies? Artistic efforts with any particularly blonde, buxom classmates from your secondary school?”

There’s a long pause, a thankful pause in the narrative too as the woman mysteriously decides to remove her jumper, before Joe replies in highly confused tones, “what-?”

“Are you _sure_?”

“I haven’t even answered yet!” Joe seems to consider the implications, deeply enough that fake-Joe has the opportunity to straighten up from all the arse highlighting and turn around with his hands upon his distractingly narrow hips “…Not that I would’ve. Of _course_ I haven’t. I’m a _music production_ student, not a-“

The way that Joe-changeling stares at the mysteriously topless woman is how he wishes Joe would stare at him.

…He means Anna-!

…No, no. He means Joe. That mute look of adoration. Those puppy dog eyes. That way of making you feel like you’re falling when you haven’t moved a single step.

“-Ask?”

“Wha?”

“You’re saying that a lot tonight,” Joe observes, but sounds more _genuinely concerned_ (like a bastard, a downright _bastard_ who keeps inconveniently popping up in the middle of perfectly rubbish pornos without a _thought_ for his feelings on the matter) than annoyed, “I asked: why do _you_ ask?”

He remains silent for a long moment: watching as not-Joe somehow manages to lift the woman up against the boiler and slide into her without a bit of stretching or lube or even an awkward scramble for a condom ( _that_ is just asking for a sudden plumber baby in the middle of her daily routine of gasping a lot, blinking far more than necessary and trying not to pass out from the simultaneous stress of both).

“…Simon?” There’s a rustle down the line, as if Joe is sitting up from somewhere and planning to leap into some grandly heroic action, “do you want me to come over or-?”

“No!” It, at the very least, gets him springing into action – flailing and scrambling back from his close perusal of that indecently large cock going far too fast between her thighs and chattering in a tone perhaps just a _little_ higher than his usual manly rumble, “I’m fine! Absolutely fine! I was just asking because of- Because of- Because-“

He bites down on a whimper as Joe, the voice and the picture appear to be colliding by now, _groans_. Low and long and like he’s _thoroughly_ enjoying the utterly fake and _unrealistic_ goings on against that put-upon boiler.

“Simon-?”

Bites down on more whimpers, _more_ whimpers, as Joe (Joejoe _Joe_ ) tosses his head back on the screen. Allows his shoulders to tense. His buttocks to clench. His fingers to dig into the writhing woman’s sides. The air to hiss out from between his admittedly perfect teeth in one long rush…

“ _Simon_ -?”

_Can’t_ bite down as Joe, _his_ Joe (though he’s nowhere close to owning the man and never will be), _comes_ on the screen. One long push and shove and _howl_ that leaves him sweaty and panting and slumping forwards to mouth at the woman’s admittedly ample breasts. 

Joe has stopped saying his name on the other end of the line.

He draws in a deep breath, passes his hand over his face ( _well_ aware of the hardness between his legs), and hopes that the man has just got distracted by a pretty owl outside his window or something.

…There’s _no_ hope, “was that-?”

“No!” He can only attempt to lie through gritted teeth, breath hissing desperately out and mind in a whirl and that hardness _still_ between his legs and making itself more known every single minute that passes, “that was nothing! Nothing at all! …Or You! Probably you, actually, ‘cause you do make some right weird noises Joe and they’re quite offensive and- and- and-“

There’s still a faintly stunned silence on the other end of the line, “were you watching _porn_?”

A faintly stunned silence that he can only gawp at, gaping widely around words that are just _refusing_ to come ( _not_ the best word) to the surface in the worst way _ever_ , “tha-that’s deeply inaccurate-“

“ _Are_ you watching porn?”

And- and… _Why_? Why are the words being so unfair? Why are they still refusing to come (not _again_ )? Why has his usual loquacious wittiness deserted him? Whywhywhywhy _why_?

“You’re watching _porn_ while speaking to me?” _Why_ is Joe still talking to him, for that matter? Instead of reasonably yelling or hanging up to sulk forever or even storming out of the apartment and fetching his stepdad to whack him firmly in the face, “that’s _obscene_ and disgusting and awful and… Was it good?”

Why-?

…Why is the world suddenly being weird and unhelpful and _deeply_ worrying again?

“Was it good porn?” Joe perseveres on the other end of the line, mysteriously still talking in absolutely level tones – faintly _curious_ tones in the brief moments where he’s not too panicked to exercise his usual skills at analysis, “come on, Simon, surely you have _some_ experience with such things?”

He-

…He, still wondering _why_ , slowly licks his lips and tries not to choke on air, “experience?”

“You keep boasting about how good you are with the internet,” Joe offers, _now_ sounding like he’s unsure if he wants to be mocking or… Something else, “surely that translates to having watched a lot of porn, doesn’t it?”

_He_ -

…He’s not sure if he should get offended at that, actually. Or if he should go back to wondering _why_ on a full time basis. Or even if he should just decide that Joe is mocking him and hang up and resign himself to a few awkward days followed by a mutual forgetting of the whole thing.

“Erm,” he decides to speak instead, “do you… Mind?”

“…No?”

“Are you sure?”

“Shouldn’t I be sure?”

“You sound uncertain…”

There’s a nervous bout of throat clearing after that. As if Joe really _is_ uncertain. As if he’s never really done anything like this before. As if sex in general was rarely referred to in his household apart from one awkward conversation with his mother when he was thirteen that put him off any kind of activity for about two years “…I’ve just rarely- _never_ been in a situation where my flatmate was simultaneously talking to me and watching doubtlessly filthy porn.”

He stares at nothing for a long moment.

“…Um.”

“If it helps,” speaks in low tones, uncomfortably aware that even the awkwardness of this conversation _hasn’t_ killed that hardness between his legs, “I’ve never really been in a situation where I was simultaneously talking to my flatmate and watching porn.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

There’s a long, and very hesitant (can’t forget the hesitant), pause before Joe speaks again “…Is this the point where I’m supposed to ask what you’re wearing?”

He stares at _nothing_ again, for yet another long moment.

And then, just as he hears Joe draw in another long and unsteady breath, snaps shut his laptop (cutting off the woman sliding mirror-Joe’s cock into her mouth) and flips onto his back. Wriggles into the pillows until he can comfortably undo his trousers and hold the phone at the same time, “soon to be nothing, you?”

He’s surprised, _almost_ surprised, to hear similar rustles at the same end – a whimpering _sigh_ like Joe’s cock has just hit air, “same.”

“How uninventive.”

That, at least, gets a _laugh_. A huffing and shaky thing - not quite whimpering _yet_ but he’s pretty sure that that’s only because Joe is ( _politely_ ) waiting for his word, “what, do you want me in heels and a dress next time?”

…He almost comes at that.

“Oh God _yes_ ,” only stops himself by a _sharp_ fist around the end of his cock, a bite on the inside of his cheek that’s almost hard enough to draw _blood_ “…Next time, next time. Are you ready now, Joseph? Are you- Is your hand on your cock, _Joe_?”

And that _whimper_ is _Divine_ , “fuck…”

“Joe?”

“ _Yes_.”

He restrains himself from just coming, yet a-bloody-gain. Only narrowly manages to ease his hand from its desperate grip around his cock. Slowly slides it up, _up_ , until he’s just gently trailing his fingers over his head – feeling the slow bead of precum there as he tilts further, _further_ , back into the pillows. Hears the echoes of Joe’s desperate gasps practically _shaking_ the throne.

“I’m thinking of you,” he murmurs, slowly as he drops his hand yet again and _wraps_ it around his cock, “as I do this, as I feel my cock against my palm. It’s heavy, you know, _hard_ \- all for you-”

“I…” Joe sucks in a breath, a helpless death. _Doubtlessly_ doing the same, “I’m gripping myself for _you_. Tight, just this side of painful. I’m imagining your hand there instead, wrapped around me. Imagining you on top of me, hot and heavy-“

“-It’s always all for you,” he murmurs, breathless and _dizzy_.

“-And naked,” Joe finishes at the same time, _choked_ , “utterly naked, of course. As you press me down into the bed.”

He laughs slightly at that, a touch crazed. Slides lower on his own bed as he slowly starts to pump – a maddeningly slow movement, for he’s always thought that if you drive yourself out of your mind the eventual bliss will be _so_ much more rewarding, “I’m pumping myself for _you_. Slowly – because I imagine you’d like to take it slow and I’d like it too and…”

“I’m going hard,” Joe shares when he pauses, tone still choked and now a little _rough_ , “because I like it _hard_ and I hope you won’t mind… ‘Cause imaginary you doesn’t mind, he’s _smiling_ and laughing and-“

“Wonderful,” he answers this time, knows that he’s more than a little ragged himself, “slow and hard, slow and… Do you imagine me a lot?”

There’s a brief pause before Joe answers, slurred and with a blissful laugh in his voice, “ _all_ the time.”

“Good,” he growls, listens to Joe’s resulting _whine_ with so much pleasure that it’s a miracle he doesn’t just swoop off the planet and fly happy loops through the solar system, “because I _think_ of you all the time: what you’re doing, where you are, what it’d feel like to kiss you against the kitchen counter…”

“What it’d feel like to be bent over the back of the sofa by you,” Joe finishes for him – dazed, whimpering and whining and _gasping_ in between every single breath now, “and pounded into my bed by you, and pressed against the door by you, and given hickies by you and sucked off by you and rocked through the aftermath by you and-“

“What it’d feel like to barely get ourselves cleaned up before Anna got home,” it’s his turn to finish off with a gasp by now, the world reducing to Joe’s voice in his ear and his hand upon his cock.

“What it’d feel like to be snogged by you in public for the first time.”

“What it’d feel like to hold hands in public for the first time.”

“What it’d feel like to tell Anna and watch her face light up.”

“What it’d feel like to tell your family-“

“- _Ew_ -“

“…Sorry.”

“What it’d feel like to book a hotel room together.”

“What it’d feel like to refer to you as my boyfriend.”

“What it’d feel like to refer to you as _more_ …”

“Oh God _yes_.”

And, after that, his world recedes to a white hot point for a few minutes. The only things _truly_ in it Joe’s fevered gasps in his ear and Joe’s- _his_ hand firmly upon his cock and the image of slowly fucking his boyfriend ( _more_ ) on pristine covers with his cheeks flushed and his hair ruffled and those irresistible eyes staring right up…

When he finally returns to himself he’s torn somewhere between blissful and sticky. His hand has fallen off his cock and is gently brushing the sheets by his naked thigh. His chest steadily rises and falls with every slow breath. The only sound in his ear is a faintly raspy gasp.

“…Joe?” He can’t help but ask slowly, propping himself up on his elbow.

There’s a long pause before the man answers. A long pause filled with yet more rustling, yet more gasping and a faint crackling as if Joe is trying to rearrange the phone in his hand “…U-um. Gimme a second. Alright?”

“A-?”

_Click_.

…A second.

A second for Joe to get himself fixed up. To gather all his clothes. To find his guitar. To move the bike away from the wall as a quick getaway vehicle. To leave his key on the window-ledge without even a note. To maybe say a brisk goodbye to Anna before running out of the door and out of his life and- and-

_And_ -

…He’s so distracted by angst that he doesn’t notice the first knock on the door. Only wakes up with the second – the louder, pleading one that seems to summon him to some great and unknown purpose.

He-

…He slowly lifts his head.

Tucks himself back in. Rises to his feet and unsteadily heads for the door while trying not to bite his own tongue or trip into the handle or do anything else foolish and stupid and _him_ to drive that precious sound away.

Joe is standing there.

With his ruffled brown hair and skinniness and gormless expression and _stare_ that somehow, somehow, now seems to him like the most appreciative thing in the world – like Joe _isn’t_ just seeing some overly cocky geek with long hair and a certain lack of people skills, like he’s actually seeing the _good_ parts instead of just the obnoxious and stupid and just plain _annoying_.

…They stare at each other for a long moment.

“You’re not next door anymore,” Joe says eventually, like his tongue is dry and possibly about to fall out.

“No,” he agrees… And it is, oddly enough, the easiest thing in the world to reach out and drag Joe _firmly_ into his arms.


End file.
